Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to mock Clara as she read the letter. It felt like a deliberate act of cruelty, arriving on a day she was finally beginning to believe she’d moved on. The words themselves, carefully chosen, did little to soothe the rage that burned within her.

She tossed the letter onto the already cluttered coffee table, where it landed beside a chipped ceramic angel – a reminder of the kindness she'd once shown the letter-writer. Now, the angel’s serenity seemed a ridiculous display of naivety.

“Just like him,” she spat, then crossed her arms, a shiver running down her spine. The cold air of the apartment suddenly felt oppressive. She'd spent years building herself back up, rebuilding her life, and now, this. She reached for the remote and cranked up the television to drown out her thoughts.